Parallel
by wrorus
Summary: Two people meet – one perfect, one incomplete. It changes the course that the universe had set out for them, by breaking each other's fates. (In a parallel of sorts, Gakuho's student is saved in the nick of time and everything changes.) drabble form.
1. association

**A/N**: I know I'm supposed to update my other stories, but I had to write this before I completely lose my muse and ideas for this. Whoops.

/crossposted at AO3/

**Summary**: Two people meet – one perfect, one incomplete. It changes the course that the universe had set out for them, by breaking each other's fates. (In a parallel of sorts, Gakuho's student is saved in the nick of time and everything changes.)

* * *

**1\. In and Out**

It's been three years since he's been back in his home country and at nineteen years of age, Kuroko Tetsuya officially returns back to Japan.

When he had just entered middle school, he had refused his parents' ways and rejected their expectations of him following their footsteps. Even if his mother said that it would be a waste to become a normal person, especially with the blood that runs in his veins and the "talent" that he had inherited, he rebelled at every turn and step. He didn't want to become like them, due to the fact that he didn't want to hurt people for a living. It just wasn't him, even if he knew he could easily do it after some training and an "easy job" was not something that motivated him. What was the point of something easy to accomplish, but was hated to be done?

Before high school, however, that stubborn desire changed and there was something in him that became desperate. He had made a deal with them without looking back, that when he finished what needed to be done in his first year of high school and no more, he would do whatever they wished for five years.

After all, if his parents could kill with a single strike or even without touching their target at all – and he meant continents away, like killing someone in France while his parents were having their breakfast in America –, Kuroko had no doubt that they would do something drastic to persuade him to their side. So, he complied, but with his own terms and agreement. It was win-win for both sides, so why not?

Now, he doesn't mind as much as he used to in the past, because he had already accomplished what he wanted to do and he has no regrets that would tie him down to Japan.

Kuroko was satisfied with just seeing his friends healed and happy. It wasn't important if he wasn't part of the equation that was the Generation of Miracles and Seirin, no matter how many times his heart yearned for it and a part of him whispered selfish desires like a demon tempting a mortal. He still felt a bit of remorse knowing that he had disappeared out of the blue, a short text message to his friends as his only proof of existence, but it had to be done.

_Professional assassins do not leave any traces behind_, he remembered his father sternly saying and throughout the lecture, Kuroko did not let it show on his face that he did leave a scattered, tiny ones. He did have a natural talent of staying hidden, or to be accurate, be invisible. _Even a slight scent could alert the hounds of your existence._

After that, he erased himself. He was no longer the normal high school student who played basketball, but the product of Bloodstreak and Opium's deadly genes. If he had promised his parents to become who they wanted, he would do it thoroughly, not, in the words of his mother, "half-assed".

Thus, as Bloodstreak's and Opium's only son and successor, he had taken all of their teachings to heart. In the span of eleven months and a half, he had become their perfect assassin, through vigorous training and plenty of experience that came in the form of jobs. He killed and killed and killed. It was what he had to do, so he did it without complaining.

If you wondered if he had a moral conscience or not, he did. His was just more hypocritical than the average person's and as twisted as a strangler's hold with rope. It's not like he killed mindlessly either. He had read mission details beforehand and of course, he avoided killing children, but men and women? They were free game, especially after he thoroughly investigated why they needed to die at his hands.

Now, at just the tender age of nineteen, though considered as the legal age in some countries or even past it, he has a metaphorical closet of skeletons – the number that was as large as the population of a small country –, wanted in some countries and considered as a myth in the underworld. With the nickname Mirage, given by an American hitman who had caught a slight glimpse of him, he became the ghost of the underworld, going in and out, unable to be found or even seen in action. There were many rumors surrounding him too, like how Mirage was actually a hitman that died of betrayal and now wanted revenge, how he was actually a ghost, Mirage was actually an organization instead of a person or Mirage was actually a shape-shifter, which by far was the most ridiculous.

But if there was one thing that the underworld was right about Mirage, is that he was always in and out.

Just like an actual ghost that did not belong in the land of living.

. . .

**2\. Reminder**

It's funny how just as Kuroko thought that he would never see basketball again unless he purposely wandered into a school's or public basketball court, he sees the goddamn orange ball of his nightmares rolling to his feet, then colliding with his shoes with a thump. It's ridiculous with how he felt in the inside – heart-wrenching pain, guts twisting and everything just shut down – when he hasn't even touched or seen a basketball since leaving Japan.

Memories of the past never bothered him before, not as nightmares, not as waking dreams, not as déjà vu moments and certainly not as sentimentality. He never had problems like continuously seeing "it" when he tried to forget, because he knew that pretending or trying to forget would just make it worse. Kuroko knew better because he was someone – natural and trained – that could easily push aside his feelings for the sake of professionalism, locking his own heart within a steel cage and swallowing the key. The teal haired man was rather thankful he wasn't in Japan for a hit, otherwise he would've fucked up in the beginning if this happened in any other form.

This particular weakness made him feel inadequate, like a naive rookie who only had a few kills under his belt. Too gullible and too unmalleable to live in a terrible world.

Being an assassin could change someone, because it started out as a necessity – to survive in any way possible – and gradually, it would turn into a job like any other, nothing more. It was like that for Kuroko, because he killed perfectly to survive from his parents, who would've killed him without a second thought had he proved himself to be a liability in their line of work and it then became routine to him just as he adjusted it to become his way of life. Due to it becoming his life, he did his best to maintain it flawlessly, because one mistake could prove to be fatal.

Thus, he had no other choice but to be the perfect assassin.

Yet, this orange ball – so _beloved_, so _hated_ – caused a crack in his mask, no matter how tiny it was. The exterior that he thought was unbreakable and unshakable, because it was his fortress made of his experience and coldness. But maybe it was actually as brittle as bones, because a Lilliputian distant memory had lodged itself in his defenses and it would eventually tear him apart if he didn't act quickly, do something fast.

_If he was felled by a reminder of all things, Bloodstreak and Opium would be so disappointed. His little apprentice would be disappointed too, that silly boy. _

But because he wasn't here for a job, he put his professionalism aside and picked up the ball.

His rather shocking reminder was ignored because Kuroko was much more curious to who would have a splotch of blood on their basketball.

Fixing his defenses and getting rid of the reminder – this time not locking it away, but burning it with the fires of hell – could come later.

. . .

**3\. Denial**

There was no denying it.

He was drowning, suffocating in water, inhaling water, making his watery grave – he couldn't think of any other synonym to associate with how he was about to die. Sensei would be very disappointed that his Japanese was still terrible. It wasn't his fault though, because he already said in the very beginning that he preferred sports, like basketball.

But then the very sports he loved betrayed him. His hopes, his dreams and his expectations, dashed off just like a member from the track team at school. He fucked up by joining his high school's basketball team and he fucked up by letting his upperclassmen pushing him around like some disposable ragdoll. He fucked up by not standing up to them, fucked up by being afraid, fucked up just by being himself.

His entire life was a gigantic clusterfuck of being fucked up. There was no other way to explain his crap life, other than by being crude.

Hah, sensei, Mori and Nagai would be so scandalized by his use of language. He was slowly drifting off – from the water or the memories, he couldn't tell –, remembering the good times he had. Remembering the greatest things that have ever happened to him, smiling all the while. The time when he discovered basketball, he, Mori and Nagai became friends, when sensei became their sensei, when sensei believed in him, when his mom supported his dreams, when –

Then, it hit him. The cold, hard, cruel realization crashed in like a truck into a house.

He was about to die.

He was _going_ to _die_.

**He was dying.**

He couldn't tell if he was crying or not, being in water. But he felt the lump forming in his throat and he clenched his eyes tightly, thinking if what he was doing was the right thing to be done. It seemed like the right choice, at the beginning of the month when he was pondering and after he bade him goodbyes, to sensei when he called the man last week and to his family when he left for school this morning.

He would not be able to do good things in this world, he knew as he sunk further to what would be his grave. Would not graduate from high school, would not grow up, would not achieve his dreams, would not be the person his parents wanted him to be. Would not be able to meet up with Mori and Nagai to chat up about the "old times", because there would never be any. Would not be able to meet up with sensei again to thank him for what the man has done for him, the boy who couldn't even believe in himself, because there was nothing to thank for when all the time sensei invested in him proved to be useless.

More water entered his lungs and he started choking and gasping, but it was futile. Humans were not made to breathe in water bodies and he would be just like any other person who entered the water with the intention of dying.

He would drown and that would be the end.

_I'm a coward_, he thought bitterly. _A stupid coward who's now scared to die._

Yet, he became resigned to the fate that he brought upon himself, despite the fear that was wrapping him up. There was no going back, not when he was already nearing the end and he had no more strength to swim towards land.

But just as his mind was about to fade, someone pulled him up and his end became scrapped.

_Not drowning anymore_, he thought groggily as he was forcibly made to spit out water and his vision, no longer of water but filled with the blueness of the sky, faded away.

The uncertain future awaited him but all he could think of was how he never appreciated being able to see something as beautiful as the sky.

He was alive and he couldn't be happier to deny the fact that he was supposed to die, before he fell unconscious.


	2. choosing

**4\. Good Morning**

It feels so strange, knowing that you're asleep and in a dream.

The dream itself was very strange – neither pleasant nor a nightmare – and it was even weirder that for once, he knew that he was stuck in his own mind and didn't try to escape. There was some sort of calm feeling that soothed him and set his nerves on fire, because of how… idyllic it was.

For once, he was not having a nightmare. For once, he was not lost, frightened or running from an unknown, shadowy monster with red eyes. For once, he didn't feel trapped.

It was like sitting in his own room, just lying on his bed and thinking of the present and the future. Of what comes tomorrow and the day after and on and forth.

In his not-so-regular dream, he is in an indoor basketball court or more specifically, the one that belongs to his school and the school team. It is large and wide, the ceilings tall enough to reach the heavens, the goal looks high and unreachable, like a strong mountain with rocky terrains that no one was able to traverse and the large amount space enough to fill the world in it. He guessed that it fit, seeing that basketball was his life, his one and only world.

Funny, how basketball almost took his life away and threw him into an unending darkness. It's… ironic – is that how you use the word? –, how something that he loved so much could turn against him, like a sword stabbing its wielder.

The dream makes him ponder. About life, about death, about his small circle of precious friends, his beloved family and of course, his scary and strict but kind and caring mentor.

He thinks about Mori and Nagai, both who are doing so well in their respective choice of schools but never forget each other because they are all always in contact despite the coming exams and whatever teenage troubles.

He thinks about his hardworking father who takes the time to talk to his children when he's free.

His mother who is a housewife to hold down the fort and care for her children even though she had a career ahead of her.

His little sister who looks up to him and sees a hero instead of Ikeda the pushover gopher.

Lastly is his sensei, who would no doubt totally kill him over his stunt if said stunt or his parents don't kill him first.

Then he stares at the unreachable goal and at the basketball rolling towards his feet. He picks it up and moves closer to the goal.

It is too tall and impossible for him to reach. Too high for him to grasp. It is useless.

_Ikeda!_

He hears a voice. It sounds like the voice of the past, long forgotten, long buried within the sands of time. Yet, it is utterly familiar and the room instantly lights up as he focuses on the voice and listens.

_That's such a good dream! Want to play me, one on one?_

The basketball court fades away to the open field of the mountain with the cram school, with fresh air and the wind blowing nicely. He sees his younger self, with his sensei and his two closest friends together.

Oh yeah, this was the time when he accidentally hit Nagai with the basketball.

"_Yeah, 'cause I have a chance of winning against Mister Perfect over here_…" he hears his younger self mutter sarcastically and he can't help but laugh at the next bit.

"_Oh yes, I possess powers unimaginable to you!_" his sensei gives a seriously good and pretty snarky comeback, but what he says after sobers him a little.

"_But in the same way, you possess your own… unique good points._"

These are the words he wants to hear; needs to hear. It's weird how a memory helps and weirder how his sensei always helps him, even in a dream.

Damn, his sensei was everywhere, wasn't he? Kinda like… Spiderman, or something.

Well, the whole dream has been extremely weird, if he says so himself. But not in a bad way, as he watches his younger self apologize to Nagai and they play basketball together and generally have fun.

The field fades away back into the same old basketball court again and the basketball is back in his hands and him in front of the goal.

It still looks high, but no longer impossible.

So, he shoots…

And wakes up.

His eyes flutter open slowly, blinking at the harsh onslaught of bright light, until his vision gets used to it and he opens his eyes again.

There are electric blue eyes staring back at him, cold and unforgiving. It makes him shudder, like being naked in the middle of winter even though it's spring right now.

But his smile…

It was so warm.

"Good morning."

. . .

**5\. The Choices We Have**

Kuroko, in all of his nineteen years of living, has actually dealt with troubled human beings before. Not the ones that are filled with ego to the point of narcissism and cruelty – his old teammates in a nutshell – but the ones who feel that life and everyone around them has given up on them. The ones that are filled with thoughts of unending despair, misery to the point of damnation, harming themselves excessively either in a physical or mental way and _the end_.

"The end" is not the one that is the end in stories or fairytales. Not _the end_, where there is a happy end, a sad end or even an unsatisfying end. It is _**the**_ _**end**_, where there is nothing to feel or savor or hope because there is nothing left at all. Everything gone, just like that.

[A permanent solution to a temporary problem.]

Kuroko himself can't quite get it either – the meaning of "end". He may be a killer, an angel of death in disguise, putting an end to lives he is paid for in cold cash and a sick sense of justification over his own actions for whatever crime his targets have committed – kidnapping, human trafficking, rape, murder, pedophilia and all kinds of hellish fucked up shit on earth – but even he doesn't know what comes after death.

Actually, instead of "not knowing", it is more like, "I know, but I don't want to". The end was just a nicer, slightly sugarcoated word for death, where an existence has to be erased from the universe, according to its laws. Remembered in hearts, but forgotten in flesh.

He doesn't keep track of his kill count like some sickos out there who work in the same industry as him but he knows the people he has killed. They were someone, once upon a time and he has put the end to their story, cutting it short then and there.

He understands the feeling of a fresh loss and an old wound, filled with disgusting pus and scarred skin because he has killed, therefore someone out there is weeping or mourning over it, or both, because all of the people he has killed had a family. A lover. Someone they've bonded with in matrimony. Someone who has cared for them and maybe it was mutual on both sides. Maybe even a mentor or a neighbor.

Therefore, for a normal boy like the one sleeping on the pure white hospital bed, sleeping so calmly when hours ago, had attempted to commit suicide, Kuroko can't begin to comprehend and reason their actions. They have lived a normal life, away from wars and deaths, away from battles and expectations of finally having their first kill, away from the people that will drag them to the underworld and unable to escape like Persephone in Hades' hold, it's…

Stupid.

Maybe it's a little hypocritical for a killer to criticize someone's choice in committing suicide. Even if he wasn't a killer, he has no say in someone's, especially a complete stranger's life. It was their choice, to put an end to themselves when their own body, nature or fate wasn't going to do it quick enough for them.

But –

The problem is that he's _just a boy_. A young boy who knows nothing of the world, a naïve, gullible, innocent little thing who hasn't even experienced a quarter of what life could offer and someone normal enough to never ever experience the darkness hidden underneath every city and town, like dirt under the rug.

It's frustrating, to say in the least.

It isn't the first time he's saved someone from their deaths and it probably won't be the last either, which is silly, because, _hello, Kuroko Tetsuya is an infamous assassin_. He's the guy to call to rip away lives and destroy happiness, depending on the amount of money you can fork over to him. His job was cut lives short, not preserve them.

It's also very unfair, seeing that Kuroko didn't choose this life and he has no choices because he gave them away when he signed his life over to his parents for five years, with three years done and two more to go.

But even if his contract with his parents is over and done with, he's sure that he won't quite be able to escape the life his parents expected him to have. Even if he does successfully leave, which he is confident that he will be able to pull it off, there will be always bits and pieces of the underworld with him.

He has already reluctantly accepted the underworld as his second him and in a way, home is where the heart is and he has already sold his soul to the devils.

But everything in his mind completely disappears when the unknown boy's finger twitches and Kuroko stays still, observing the fall and rise of the boy's chest and the minute twitches of his eyebrow and finger.

When he finally wakes in what seems to be a few minutes later, he fakes a smile.

"Good morning."

It never reaches his eyes, which naturally holds death and ice.

. . .

**6\. The Choices We Make**

"U-uh, good m-morning?"

The young boy stumbles on his words, confused by the stranger sitting beside him. He looks around the room, which is an endless white and a window to the outside world by his right, with similar beds lining across the room perfectly –

That's when he realizes that he's in a hospital and that he almost died because he wanted to drown. It's like a slow train moving on the railway and looking at the passing scenery slowly makes sense in one's mind, like a picture formed after completing a puzzle.

"Um, hi?" he says awkwardly and if he was standing right now, he would shuffle his feet. Who was this person anyways?

But the stranger goes straight to the point. There was no more social pleasantries, smiles or slow build ups. The smile has gone cold like an unheated late night dinner. It makes Ikeda sick with himself and filled with the feeling of wanting to vomit.

The words were even worse.

They were raw, painful and heart wrenching.

"You're stupid, wanting to die like that."

Meanwhile, Kuroko knows what he's doing. He knows the right body language and conversational flair to use when he needs to intimidate someone, to make them feel helpless. In his case, he uses what suits his exterior demeanor. They are very slight gestures and a soft tone, but that doesn't make it any less powerful.

He tilts his head slightly and makes the tension in the room freezing cold, causing the boy in front of him to suddenly jerk in surprise. His expression darkens a little and his eyes are staring at the blankets, waiting for a response of some kind.

When the boy stares at Kuroko nervously, unsure of the sudden change of atmosphere in the room, that's when he strikes.

The assassin makes eye contact with the boy and said boy instantly fidgets and is reduced to an anxious five year old. Of course, had Kuroko took it further, the boy would've been a mess and it was terribly troublesome to fix messes.

Kuroko smiles and it is unlike the one from when the boy wakes up. Ikeda feels like he's cornered prey.

"You know what's even more stupid?" the blue haired young man says, which is more like a whisper when someone gossips about sins and a recent murder. Secrets in the dark; dirty laundry not to be aired to the neighbors or anyone in the neighborhood. "You left a trace."

This time, Ikeda instantly flinches. Kuroko's smile instantly becomes menacing.

But Kuroko's voice is as hypnotizing as a pendulum swinging back and forth and Ikeda can't help but wanting to listen, despite the fact that it's so unkind and mercilessly cruel.

"If you really wanted to die, you would've done it without anyone the wiser. You wouldn't hesitate. Wouldn't think twice about doing it. Why? Because you're ready to go." The assassin spins his words without breaking a sweat with the grace of a spider spinning a beautifully patterned web.

If Opium were here, she would be a proud mother but a displeased mentor. A professional shouldn't be using his or her skills on a civilian, especially if said civilian wasn't even a target, has nothing to do with the mission or isn't considered a beneficial reaping. However, Bloodstreak would just tell his son to punch the brat in the face.

Well, they weren't the best parents, but they got the messages across.

"This shows that you were, _are_, a fool. A selfish, inconsiderate little boy, who doesn't know anything at all…"

This could go two ways. Either Kuroko successfully emotionally manipulates the boy or the boy fights back.

Ikeda fights back. "You're wrong!" He's close to tears and the young adult isn't even guilty about causing someone a few years younger than him to cry.

_Oh, so he's the brash type, like Kagami-kun_, Kuroko can't help the thought that runs through his mind.

"Y-you're wrong," he stammers and the sudden gusto, the surge of bravery is gone, like a dandelion in the wind. His hands unclench themselves and he adopts the look of a lost boy. "Y-you're…"

"I'm right." Kuroko assures Ikeda. This time, Ikeda wisely shuts up and restrains himself from speaking when he has no words to say. "You know I am."

"So tell me, what made you turn around on the permanent choice that would have ended you?" Kuroko inquired with no curiosity at all. He isn't at all interested in the boy's motives but he does want to save him, even if the boy is horribly stupid. "In a terribly painfully way. Drowning isn't the best way to go."

At this point, the civilian-turned-assassin doesn't have to fake a bitter chuckle.

"Basketball isn't the end of the world, you know." The words are soft, but Ikeda hears them loud and clear.

**Basketball isn't the end of the world, you know.**

**Basketball isn't the end of the world, you know.**

_**Basketball isn't – **_

"How did… you…?"

The boy is utterly stunned.

Kuroko gives a half smile.

He holds up the basketball that broke his mask earlier, the one with the splotch of blood. The sight of it invokes a negative response – a flinch and a fearful gaze.

Once upon a time, Kuroko was like that too, after the last match of his third championship in middle school, the Teiko vs Meiko match that practically destroyed his first friendship, the bond he had with his childhood friend. It's familiar and at the same time, not at all.

They had different reasons for their reaction. Kuroko wonders what the boy's is.

Kuroko doesn't need to prompt the boy into speaking, as the boy wastes no time to talk.

"I was bullied. By the upperclassmen in my basketball club." He speaks, soft and slow. It's an improvement and at least the boy doesn't break down into a dreadful mess of emotions from Kuroko's harsh tactic, so that's a win too. "They made me do errands for them, took my lunch, took my money and made me steal stuff for them too."

The older of the two nods. While he has not much experience in bullying, as he always paid them back tenfold or he was never noticed enough to be painted as a target, he knows that the act itself is a crime on its own. The cruelty of adults can never be compared to the cruelty of children. Mindless and unaware of the possible consequences.

"They didn't let me play in games, always made me clean the court and for some reason…" the boy hiccups and Kuroko knows the first signs of crying when he sees them. Oh dear. "I-I just… c-couldn't quit… be… because…"

"I just… hic… wanted t-to play b-basketball, ya know?"

The tears running down his face are ugly and the dribbling snot is icky and gross, but it makes Kuroko's heart clench in a way that the fateful match did four years ago. There is an onslaught of guilt and sadness invading his judgment that Kuroko thought he has already killed off.

But he steels himself.

_You can't show weakness, Tetsuya_, Opium says in the back of his mind. _Or else the wolf will eat you up._

"Then play basketball." Kuroko settles on saying. "There's no reason for you to still be in that club full of unreasonable upperclassmen who use you for their own gain instead of helping your talent flourish."

"Maybe the teachers can't help you with your bullying problem, but your parents can." stated Kuroko. "They can file a complaint to the school and there will be a meeting with the bullies' parents to sort the issue out."

"Or," suggests the assassin when he saw the boy's face pale rapidly. There's always an alternative if someone didn't want attention or turn something into a large-scale problem. "You can always transfer."

"B-but what about the transfer forms and the whole process?" he questioned uncertainly. "Wouldn't it be a bother to my –"

"Trust me when I say this," the blue haired man interrupts. "If you told your parents that you were being bullied, they would do anything to stop it. Even if it means creating a big, unnecessary issue and even if it means having to violently sort it out when words aren't enough."

"I-I wanted to die." declared the boy. "There was just so much pain and frustration that I couldn't take it anymore, but…"

"When I drowned and almost stopped breathing, I didn't want to die. I wanted to live." he chokes in his tears. "Everything and everyone I know came into my head and, a-and… I couldn't. I didn't want to anymore."

Ikeda rubs his eyes furiously. He's not crying, goddamn it.

Kuroko knows better.

"It's your choice and you always have a choice." Kuroko reaches out with his hand to ruffle the boy's hair. "Just let yourself choose and hope it holds less consequences than the other."

When he finally stops being an emotional wreck, the boy looks at Kuroko and smiles. Kuroko smiles back, sincerely this time.

Wow, he's smiling a lot today.

* * *

**A/N**: is this angsty enough

i forgot how to write


End file.
